User blog:Hydracat144/Crappy Paradox Oneshots, DO NOT LOOK IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE VERY GRAPHIC MURDER
(Fun fact: this one has 666 words) The boy sat in the chair across from the policeman, hands cuffed behind his back. He had this smile on his face, a sort of blissful, naive smile that made Officer Brown feel uncomfortable. “Mr. Dylan Anderson?” Brown said, tapping his pen on the paper in front of him. “You were brought in for—” the man did a double take. Surely that couldn't be right. “For… cooking and eating an infant you had kidnapped from a house nearby?” The policeman looked up from his paper and suddenly realized why this was a top-security prisoner. The boy—his file said he was twenty-seven, though he looked much younger—nodded blandly at Officer Brown, his head twitching to the left. He looked almost bored. Brown felt almost sick. He should be locked in a padded cell for the rest of his life. “Do you admit to this?” “It tasted so sweet,” Dylan Anderson said. “Can I have another one?” As he smiled, there was a flash in the boy’s dark eyes that chilled Officer Brown to the bone. I have never met a human being so sick and twisted. And he is fully aware of that fact. The boy rocked from side to side, fingers twitching a nervous rhythm. He would occasionally bite his own tongue, drawing blood. “How did you… kidnap the victim?” Officer Brown forced out. “Mm.” Dylan made a noncommittal noise, licking his lips. “I made her fly out of her window. She broke her neck on the sidewalk, but I fixed it. She screamed so loudly. I had to make her quiet.” His dark eyes were alight with a strange, wild fire. He grinned. The creature’s teeth were freakishly pointed. Officer Brown’s heart began pounding. It was terrifying being in the same world as people like this, let alone the same room. Licking his own lips nervously, the policeman edged backwards in his seat. He wanted to get this over with. Get as far away from Dylan as possible. “Tell the truth, please. What really happened?” “Then I took her home, and put her on the table,” Dylan continued, like he hadn't heard the officer. “I slit her open with my fingernails, slowly, slowly. It took all night. I ripped my nails out, see?” Eyes wide, grinning, the boy held out his hands. There were painful cuts where the fingernails used to be—it looked like someone had yanked them out. Brown listened with captivated horror, perspiring in fear at the monster in front of him. He was unable to move or speak. “I slit her from neck to groin. She screamed the entire time.” Dylan stood up, hands on the table, leaning over Brown. “All that blood, so dark it was black, came rushing out. And all those organs. Coiled up inside her like bloated purple snakes. I grabbed them and pulled them out. She made this gagging noise, choking, and the blood decided to go up her mouth and nose and pour and bubble out like fountains.” He was twitching like mad now, animated by his horrific tale. He bit the tattered remains of his fingertips. Dylan looked like some sub-human creature, fueled by terror and blood. “I reached into her rib cage, running my fingers along the inside of her bones. She couldn't make noises. I knew it must've felt…” Dylan climbed on the table, putting a finger under Officer Brown’s chin, lifting his face upwards. “So…” There was a grinding noise, and the chair that was normally fastened to solid concrete tipped backwards. “Incredibly…” Dylan climbed on top of Officer Brown, unfastening the man’s blue police shirt. Finally, like coming out of a trance, Brown woke up and realized what was happening. He started screaming. “Amazing.” Dylan’s arm suddenly snapped, blood spurting out as the boy’s eyes rolled into his head. He moaned in pleasure. The white of bone, jagged and sharp, was exposed. And then Dylan cut Officer Brown’s stomach open using the makeshift blade of a splintered bone. ~<@>~#~<@>~ She first saw him on the rooftop of the school. He was standing there, facing the edge, casually putting his hands in his pockets. She wondered if he was going to jump. He didn't. When she left, he was sitting at the edge, still just staring outwards. She could've sworn she felt his eyes on her back. The second time she saw him, it was closer. He was outside the girls’ restroom. It was a strange place for a teenage boy to loiter, and it made her wonder if he was transgender or something—he was dressed in a rumpled gray suit, with a high collar, and his face was thin and almost feminine. He could've easily been biologically female. Then the news leaked out that a dead body had been found in the girls’ restroom and school was closed. She remembered him, his casual loitering, his nervous twitching. She wondered if he was a murderer. That would be even more exiting than if he had jumped to his death or was transgender. She made an effort to seek him out, giggling to herself and feeling dangerous. The third time she saw him, he spoke. To her. He was eating something—meat—just off the school grounds. He offered her some, dark eyes wide, something in them that made her want to run away. He acted like a child. Nervously twitching, laughing. She didn't take any meat. The last time she saw him, he was slaughtering children with his mind. She spotted him walking down dark streets and followed, keeping to the shadows. He was more interesting than watching the people in the strip clubs or the people jumping off buildings. He was so beautiful, in a strange, disturbing way. His pale hair shimmered like opals. He looked like a girl—but at the same time, a boy—and so old—and young—at the same time. He was fascinating. She followed him to a playground. An elementary school. She watched him approach, nervous and twitching and innocent as always, and a playground aid stopped him. He ripped the aid’s face open. Using his mind. A red line appeared down the aid’s face, first, and crunching and gagging and agonized whining noises started to happen. The aid slumped to the ground and their head smashed into a puddle of red and gray. The children screamed. And screamed. And screamed. She screamed too, but then she froze, and so did all the children. He chose a boy. He carefully inspected the boy, grinning wildly. Then he created needles, three feet long, and stabbed them through the boy’s body. The boy screamed more and twitched and jerked and slowly slid down from where he was suspended by needles. The boy died just like the aid. He chose a girl, and added more and more weight to push the girl down into the wood chips of the playground. The girl was gasping for breath and vomiting until finally the weight stopped the struggle. He added more. Then the girl started oozing out from under all the weight, red and yellow and black and the entire rainbow of bodily fluids and bodily organs. He chose another boy, and then ate the boy alive, leaving only clothes and bones and other inedible parts. He ate the boy alive, piece by piece, while blood spurted and sprayed and poured and pooled. And then he left. Bloody and tattered. His eyes were wild, happy. He left behind him corpses and blood and lots and lots and lots of pain. She found a note in her locker when she was finally well enough to go to school again. Her therapists said the note didn't exist, after she told them. But she would always remember. Everything. "dear sydney, my love, i know you were watching. now you know i will always be watching. sincerely, paradox." Underneath the note was a human heart. Every day since then, various bits and pieces of humans Paradox had dissected would turn up around Sydney’s house, reminding her that he was always watching. And one day, he'd come back for her. Category:Blog posts